ABC's of Child Rearing
by Tubular Fox
Summary: Stealing ideas is hard.  Planting ideas is harder.  But retiring and raising a daughter?  That's the biggest challenge they've ever faced.  The story of a loving family, in 26 out-of-chronological-order ficlets.
1. A, B, C, D

Hello again! I come bearing another Inception fic. Sorry to those who wanted more Star Trek. D: But I hope you all enjoy this fic!

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Go figure.

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A is for Adoption

"…Arty, darling, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Arthur glances up from the paper, one hand denting the crisp newsprint and the other curled around the handle of his coffee mug. "Hmm? Sure, go ahead," he says noncommittally, eyes already flickering back to the article he was reading.

"All right, I will. Have you ever considered having children?"

It is only Arthur's iron self-control that keeps his coffee where it is—in his mouth.

When he has swallowed, he sets the paper down and looks fully up at Eames, who is standing uncomfortably in the doorway and shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot.

"I—well," Arthur begins. "It's a big decision, first of all. We're always moving, always _working_, and we're constantly chased down by people we've wronged."

Eames glances away. "Well, we could…we could always _retire_. We have enough money to live on for ten lifetimes," he says softly. "Arthur, I'm not asking you to decide now—"

But Arthur is staring off into space and no longer listening.

Eames wonders if he should go.

Arthur sighs, but there is a kind of smile playing around at the corners of his mouth. "If we—if we _did_ adopt, would you want a boy or a girl?"

"Oh _darling_," Eames says with a grin that stretches across his entire face. "It doesn't matter to me. Whichever you want. Oh, _darling_." And he crosses the kitchen in two long strides to place soft kisses on the top of Arthur's head until the point man waves him away with fond exasperation.

A year and four moths later, they bring their daughter home.

**-oooxooo-**

**B is for Breakfast**

The pancakes sizzle happily on the griddle as Eames hums over them, apron on and spatula in hand.

"How many will you eat, Arty?" he asks over his shoulder.

Snapped out of his daze, Arthur lifts his head from his staring contest with their eighteen-month-old daughter and says distractedly, "Oh, I don't know. One or two. Just put them under a plate or something, I'll eat them eventually."

"Having problems?" the Brit chuckles as he piles the steaming pancakes onto a plate and turns to take in Arthur's ruined button-down shirt. Rolling up the sleeves has not saved it. "I _told_ you not to wear that during breakfast."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh while you can," Arthur says. "It's _your_ turn to feed her at lunch."And he goes back to trying to force the willful girl to eat her mashed pears.

**-oooxooo-**

**C is for Cookies**

Three years old and covered in flour, Hannah runs into the living room and climbs onto Arthur's lap. He cringes for just a moment as the flour smears onto the charcoal of his suit, but he turns a smile onto the beaming face of his daughter.

"Papa! _Allons y_!Come_ on_, Papa!" She wriggles on his legs happily and tugs at his tie, hitting him in the leg with the equally flour-covered rabbit stuffed animal in her other hand. "Lucy says you should hurry up."

He laughs and brings a finger up to wipe a smear of red off of the end of her nose.

"What's this?" he asks, play-suspiciously. Hannah reaches up her own chubby finger to smear some onto Arthur's cheek. She shrieks with laughter and slides of the couch, socked feet padding and thumping back into the kitchen where Eames is singing a horribly off-tune version of "Silver Bells" as he pulls the cookie sheets out of the oven.

Arthur shakes his head and slips the red-covered finger into his mouth, then cringes.

"A little less powdered sugar in the frosting next time, okay?"

**-oooxooo-**

**D is for Dating**

"Okay, Papa, I'll be back at ten," Hannah says as she crosses to the door. Arthur glances up from his book at his sixteen-year-old daughter and nods.

"All right. Call if you need anything. You know the drill: no drinks, no drugs, no doing the deed."

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. "Yeah, _d'accord_, Papa," she says, and alters her course to kiss her father on the cheek before going to the door.

"Have fun," he says, and looks back down at his book.

"Okay! Bye!" she chirps, and turns the handle.

"_Wait!"_ comes a yell from the kitchen, and this time both Hannah _and_ Arthur roll their eyes. Eames sticks his head out of the kitchen, his mouth open incredulously. "Have fun? Have _fun_? Arthur, darling, really? That's _all?_"

"James—" Arthur starts.

"_Dad_—" Hannah protests, but Eames has already crossed to the door and opened it. He stares out at the boy sitting in the car parked on the driveway and crooks his finger.

"Get in here," he mouths, and the boy scrambles to obey. Soon, he is standing in the living room in front of Eames, nervously trying _not_ to pull at the hem of his polo shirt.

"Uh, g-good evening, sirs," he stutters out, and Arthur sighs as Eames's eyes narrow.

"Good evening, Jared," Arthur says with a smile. "How is your family?"

"Oh, uh, very good, Mr…uh, Mr.—" His eyes flick to Hannah nervously, seeking the appropriate name. She is Hannah Eames-DeLacey, but her fathers have not hyphenated their own names. And the last time he met Arthur was during second grade lit circle.

"Papa, can we go?" Hannah asks, saving him. She glances over at Arthur pleadingly, trying to push Jared over to the door and out of Eames's line of fire. Jared has just caught sight of the handgun tucked into Eames's waistband.

She has almost successfully managed to shove Jared out of the house before he takes a deep breath and plants his feet.

"Mr. Eames, Mr. DeLacey, my name is Jared Bellmont. It is my intention to take your daughter out to dinner, and then to a movie. I intend to buy her popcorn with whatever unhealthy amount of butter she wants, any candy she desires, and a soda, should it be required. Then, I intend to let her pick the movie."

Eames raises an eyebrow.

"I intend to give her my coat if she gets cold, but not to try anything funny in the movie theater. I may not be all that athletic, but I'm good at academics, so if we run into any trouble I'll protect her by blinding them with science until she can get away." He pushes his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose and breathes out slowly. "I intend to give her a really great night out, and I'll have her back by ten."

Arthur tries to hide his grin behind his hand. Eames regards Jared seriously for a moment, and then snaps a picture on his phone. "Isn't Hannah cute when she's lovestruck, darling?" he asks.

"_Dad!"_ Hannah yells, and shoves Jared out the door. "I'll be back soon. Good_bye_." She slams the door behind her.

"Have fun!" Eames yells through the wood, and then returns to the kitchen, closely followed by Arthur's laughter.

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I think 'Dating' is my favorite out of these ones. How about you? More tomorrow! Please review!


	2. E, F, G

Thanks to all of you who reviewed! Here's part 2!**

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E is for Extravagance

"…Well?" Hannah asks nervously, as Arthur just stares at her. He says nothing for a long moment, and then presses a hand to his eyes. "Papa?"

"Just give me a minute, okay?" he manages to choke out, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes. "You look wonderful, honey."

Hannah beams and shyly tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear, even though they both know it won't stay. "Really? _Merci_, Papa. Are—are you _crying?_" She steps over and wraps her arms around him, tugging him close even though three seconds ago she was worried about her dress wrinkling.

"I'm not," Arthur protests weakly, quietly, and she can barely hear him over the sounds of Eames giving Jared "the Dad talk" downstairs. After two years, they're still together. "I'm really not," he says, louder this time, and she pulls away.

"What's wrong, Papa? I'm not believing that for a second."

He reaches over and absentmindedly adjusts her shrug. "It's just that—well, you're going to prom. _Senior_ prom. You're growing up." He straightens the small pendant she inherited from Eames's mother on her sixteenth birthday.

"Oh, Papa," she sighs. "I'll always be your little girl. No matter how old I get." She takes his hands and smiles a watery smile, before gasping, "Papa! You're making my mascara run!"

He laughs and grabs a tissue to pat her cheeks. "It didn't, don't worry. Now, go save your boy from death by humiliation. _Ton p__è__re_ probably wants to take rolls and rolls of pictures."

She laughs, lip gloss making her smile shine like the sparkles in her dress as she turns to dramatically descend the stairs and make her grand entrance. She will make every boy who meets her leave with a dry mouth tonight, this beautiful girl.

And Arthur feels fresh tears well up in his eyes and raises a hand to brush them away.

"Oh, and honey?" he calls, softly. She turns, and he thinks he can see a line of gleaming water brimming up in her eyes.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Don't tell your father."

**-oooxooo-**

**F is for Family**

Eames grew up an only child in a single-parent household. His mother loved him and did the best by him that she could, even if sometimes she had to leave him with his grandparents on holidays because they _wouldn't let her off work_.

His father left his mother when he found out she was pregnant.

And he has resolved that he will always be there for his family. For his beautiful husband and for his beautiful little girl. He will be there; supervising play time with Lucy Lapin the pink rabbit, reading bedtime stories, killing _huge_ spiders in the bathroom...

He will make dinner and wash dishes and love them unconditionally for as long as they will have him. He will love them as much as they allow, and then some.

And he will never complain, because life without them would be unimaginable.

**-oooxooo-**

**G is for Growth**

"And look at that!" Eames says. "You've grown a whole _inch!_" He marks it off with a pencil and then gives the okay for his excited five-year-old to turn around and examine the line critically, as only a five-year-old can.

"A whole _inch?_" she asks, in awe. "I'm so tall! Daddy! Look how tall I am!"

"I can see!" Eames exclaims, and the he scoops her up and swings her around. "You'll be taller than your papa one of these days!"

And she giggles. "No, silly Daddy. It'll take a _long_ time for me to be _that_ tall! Maybe even another whole _year!_"

"A whole _year_, you say?" Eames gasps dramatically. "Well, we'd best go tell Papa that he has a long time to wait then, shouldn't we?"

"Uh-huh!" And Eames pulls her up onto his shoulders and runs down the hall to Arthur's office.

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Short, I know, but I'm kinda following the beat of the song. So, I'll see you all tomorrow, and please review!


	3. H, I, J, K

Okay! This is part three, up for your viewing pleasure! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and please enjoy!**

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H is for Humiliation

"You're _adopted_," the boy jeers. "Your parents are _gay_."

Hannah curls her little hand into a fist. She is in fifth grade, and is now very familiar with the fact that, even though the word isn't offensive to _her_, the people who use it mean it to be so. It makes her _mad_, because her parents are _no one's_ to make fun of but _hers_.

"Hand-me-down Hannah, yer momma didn't plan ya, they gave you to two gays 'cause no one else could stand ya," he sing-songs, and Hannah wonders what she's done to deserve it this time. Gotten another A on a test? Scored higher than him on the statewide exam?

Her best friend, Jill, tugs beseechingly on her arm. "Just ignore that jerk, Hannah," she says. "He's just ignorant."

"Hand-me-down Hannah—"

"_Shut up!" _she roars, turning on him. "Hand-me-down Hannah is going to hand _you_ down an _ass whooping_ if you don't shut up right now!" She has learned to swear from her dad, and is therefore a force to be reckoned with. It does her heart good to see him cower a little.

"So what if I'm adopted? So what if I have two dads? I can still kick your academic _and_ physical butt.I'm smarter, prettier, and more well-behaved than you are. So what if my birth mother didn't want me? My dads _do_. And I feel sorry for the woman who had to wait nine months for _you_."

And, just short of spitting, she leaves him there and heads to the swings.

**-oooxooo-**

**I is for Instincts**

Eames will never understand how Arthur knows to go into Hannah's room before she starts crying. He will never understand how Arthur knows exactly where Hannah will be when she's hiding from bath time, or when she's about to make the white walls of Arthur's office colorful with crayon flowers.

His only explanation is maternal instincts.

And he knows to duck immediately when he says this to Arthur.

**-oooxooo-**

**J is for Jelly**

"Honey, _honey_," Arthur says, his pained cries bringing Eames into the kitchen from where he was folding the checkered picnic blanket in the hallway. "Honey, _stop._ Oh _God_, please stop."

Arthur buries his face in his hands.

Three-year-old Hannah has covered herself in peanut butter and jelly and stuck a piece of bread to her chest and haphazardly to her back. Eames can only suppose she must have done it while Arthur was going through the fridge because—

"Oh, bloody _Nora_," Eames gasps around the amused sobs that rack his frame. "I need to get the camera. _Don't move._"

And Hannah just laughs while Arthur just continues to mourn Hannah's once-light-pink overalls.

When Eames gets back, he snaps a quick picture and then sets his hand on Arthur's back to rub slow, soothing circles.

"Daddy, Daddy, look! I'm a _sandwich-ch__é__rie!*"_

Eames cracks up. "She's taking after me!"

"Oh my _God_," Arthur moans. "Stop corrupting our daughter."

_*Bad French pun. 'Sandwicherie' is a sandwich shop. 'Sandwich-chérie' means 'Darling sandwich."_

**-oooxooo-**

**K is for Kisses**

"Darling," Eames whispers as he presses a kiss to Arthur's temple, "darling, I love you so much." Arthur sighs and relaxes back into his husband's arms. He tilts his head and smiles as Eames drops another small kiss onto the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too," Arthur replies, and kisses Eames's jaw, the two days worth of stubble sliding against his lips in a familiar and comforting way. They haven't had a minute to themselves in what feels like ages, and they haven't enjoyed kissing for more than a second here and there, it seems.

Arthur twists in Eames's arms to place his lips chastely on his husband's. And then gently, he begins to trace Eames's lips with his tongue. Eames grins and pulls Arthur closer, opening his mouth to deepen the—

"_Papa? Daddy? Paaaaapaaaaa…"_ Hannah wails from the other room.

"Looks like it's you, tonight, pet," Eames sighs, pulling back. Arthur rubs his eyes tiredly.

"Okay. Goodnight," he says, because Eames will be asleep by the time he gets back.

"Goodnight," Eames replies as Arthur stands, and tugs him down by the shirtfront for another chaste kiss. "We will continue—"

"_Paaaapaaaa…"_

"—when Hannah sleeps through the night. I'll see you tomorrow, love."

And Arthur laughs tiredly and goes out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

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Poor Arthur and Eames, not getting to sleep through the night yet. Always a difficult time, no? (Not that I would know, except from babysitting...) So, anyway, please review! Please!


	4. L, M

Part four! Only two this time, but they're long. :) Or well, kinda. Hope you enjoy!**

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L is for Lullabye

The thunder rips through the gentle hush of the rain like an explosion and the lightning brands Arthur's eyes with lines of fading color as he sits up suddenly and stares out the window. Beside him, Eames stirs and blinks awake, mumbling something about it being too _goddamn early_ for this.

Arthur sucks in a breath, and then Hannah begins to cry.

They are both on their feet in an instant. The door of her room—the one right next to theirs—swings open without a sound as they rush in. Eames closes her blinds so the sudden flashes of lightning won't bother her, and Arthur goes to her railed-in bed to pick her up, cradling her in his arms.

"Oh, shhh, hush now, love," Eames soothes as he comes over to gently stroke Hannah's tear-streaked face. "It's just a bit of thunder. Nothing to worry about. Everything's okay." But Hannah is only two years old, and that doesn't mean much to her.

She hides her face against Arthur's shoulder.

"Honey, it's all right. We're here," Arthur murmurs, stroking her hair softly as Eames rubs her back. And then, miracle of miracles, he begins to hum.

Eames watches, a small grin on his face as Arthur lays his cheek against the top of Hannah's head and begins to sing.

"_Oh I'd like to visit the moon, in a rocket ship high in the air._

_Yes, I'd like to visit the moon. But I don't think I'd wanna stay there._

_Oh I'd like to look down on the Earth from above, _

_But I'd miss all the places and people I love._

_So although I might stay there for one afternoon,_

_I don't want to live on the moon..."_

He rocks her slowly in time with the melody, and soon she is fast asleep again. Arthur carries her into the room he and Eames share, and lays her on the bed as they climb in on either side of her.

Eames takes his hand, lacing their fingers over the small form of their daughter and leans forward to place a gentle kiss on Arthur's forehead.

And, storm forgotten, he is humming as he falls into sleep.

**-oooxooo-**

**M is for Moving**

"Well, that's all of it," Hannah says with a satisfied sigh. "I'm finally all packed." She straightens up from taping the last box shut and tugs her high ponytail tighter. "All that's left is to put them in the car."

"Done already?" Eames asks, surprised, as he carries in the tray of sandwiches he made for the rest of his family. His sleeves are rolled up and the top two buttons are undone, but there is nothing unusual there.

Arthur looks up from where he is labeling a cardboard box in black permanent marker on the other side of the room. "Yes, we're all finished. After lunch, would you help us pack them into the car?"

"I…sure, of course," Eames says, and his smile is only slightly off. Arthur's head tilts questioningly when he notices, but Hannah is too busy examining her field of boxes to notice.

"Can you believe it?" she asks again excitedly, for what feels like the millionth time. "I'm going to MIT! Can you _believe_ it?" Arthur smiles happily and accepts the bouncy hug she gives him.

"Of course I can believe it," Arthur says. "You're our daughter." His arms tighten around her waist for a split second before he lets her go. She trots over to Eames and wraps her arms around his neck, giving him an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.

"Dad, you be nice to Papa while I'm gone, okay? I won't be around to protect him from your fashion any more. I don't want his eyes to burn out of his head."

"Ha ha," Eames says, tugging at her ponytail affectionately. "I already hear enough of that from _him_ without your help, young lady." And then he wraps her in a bear hug until she mock-struggles for air.

"Oh, can I call Jill and Lindsey to come over and see if there's anything else I need?" she asks, and Eames catches Arthur's eye and shrugs indifferently.

"Sure," the retired point man says. "See if they want to stay for dinner. We're having beef bourguignon tonight."

"Oh! Jill _loves_ that!" Hannah squeals, and races out of the room to grab the phone.

When she is out of sight, Eames sets the tray down on one of the stacks of boxes and surveys the almost empty room. He sighs, and then crosses the room to Arthur's side. He wraps an arm around his husband's waist and pulls him close.

"Can _you_ believe it?" he asks quietly.

**-ooo-**

They day has come. Hannah waits impatiently by the car for her dad to finish his last check of the house. She, of course, has already done this plenty of times, and is _sure_ she hasn't forgotten anything. She smiles when Eames finally emerges.

"All ready?" Arthur asks, one last time.

"Yup," she says. "I would have been ready _hours_ ago if Dad hadn't taken so long," she teases, but Eames just ducks his head.

"Can you blame me for wanting to keep you here a little longer?" he asks quietly, and Hannah's smile slips.

"Oh, Dad. Oh, _Dad_. Come here." But it is she who races into his arms and buries her face in his chest, like she did when she was just a child. "I'll be back to visit. Every chance I get. You know that. It's not like I'm leaving _forever._" And her voice is muffled, but Eames knows she is crying.

He is crying, too.

Arthur watches silently, his smile wistful and his eyes fond, but he is not crying. He already has, and he's sworn he won't do it now. He waits until they pull away from each other to hand them each a tissue.

"Look at me, I'm a mess," Hannah says with a breathless chuckle. She dabs at her eyes and then blows her nose.

"You are your father's daughter," Arthur says, and leans his head on Eames's shoulder.

They get into the car, and everyone buckles in. They have barely been driving for two minutes when Hannah shrieks, "Stop! _Arrête_, Papa! I forgot something!"

Arthur drives back to the house, unlocks the door, and watches as Hannah barrels up the stairs. She returns, breathless, only a few seconds later. Tucked under one arm is Lucy Lapin, the rabbit who was given to her when she was only three months old. Lucy is no longer pink, and is missing one eye, but the inside of her ears are still soft, and her feet are still good for dancing, Hannah assures him.

They get back into the car.

**-ooo-**

They drive Hannah the four hours to MIT and help her carry all of her boxes into her single. They make the bed and unpack the boxes, helping her set up the shelves and organize her desk. They attend the parents' seminar. And then, then it is time to go.

Hannah sees them off from the curb, waving frantically with one hand, the other securely holding a ratty, once-pink rabbit to her chest. Then, her arm drops to take Lucy's paw, and she lifts it in a wave to send her parents off.

"Look after her, Lucy," Arthur whispers. Then he rolls down the window. "Call if you need anything, honey!" he shouts.

And right then, he doesn't care if he is embarrassing her in front of all of her peers because she is shouting back that she will, and she'll write, and she'll call, and she'll _visit until they're sick of her!_

And he is glad Eames is driving as he rolls the window back up, because he can no longer see through his tears.

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Nrrg, moving out makes me sad even now! I'm going to be one of those parents, I think. One of the embarrassing kind. :) Oh well! Please review?

Oh, and song is "I'd Like to Visit the Moon" from Sesame Street, covered by JGL. You can find it on YouTube. :)


	5. N, O, P

Here's part five! Thanks you so much to everyone who reviewed, and please, keep on sticking around!**

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N is for Nighttime

"Please?" she asks again, eyes wide and pleading, and Arthur swears that there are tears brimming up. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, shooting the chuckling Eames a poisonous look over their daughter's head.

"Hannah…"

"_S'il-vous plait_, Papa," she begs again. "Daddy says it's okay. Don't you Daddy?"

"I—uh," Eames says looking a bit startled to be dragged into it so suddenly. He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably in the heat of Arthur's glare.

"_Did_ he now?" Arthur asks, lowly, dangerously. And Hannah is too young to recognize both the tone and the fact that the question is not meant for her, so, thinking that she's winning, Hannah grins and nods.

"Yeah! Daddy said it was all right! He just said I had to ask you." Her eyes are wide and pleading again, and Arthur curses his husband on the suspicion that he is teaching their daughter to act. "Please? Please!"

"_James_—Hannah, honey, I'm going to talk to your Daddy for just a minute, okay?" Arthur says, laying his book aside and standing, crooking a finger at his husband. Eames swallows, but follows Arthur into the kitchen. Hannah sits down patiently in Arthur's vacant chair, picking up his book and flipping through the pages, though she can't understand most of the words.

"James, why did you tell her it was okay? It really isn't," Arthur says exasperatedly. "You're making me into the bad cop, here."

"It really wasn't my intention to do that, darling," Eames says, shrugging helplessly. "I really thought it was going to be okay. It's just another half an hour, after all."

"She needs her sleep," Arthur says back, frowning. "Her bedtime is eight for a reason, James."

"But it's _Friday_, Arthur. Lighten up a little. I think that if she wants to stay up until eight-thirty on a Friday night, we should let her."

"But what if she wants to stay up until eight-thirty on the other days, too? Then will we have to let her stay up until nine on Fridays? No. Her bedtime is still eight." He looks at Eames until his husband sighs, and mutters out an agreement. Then Arthur turns and leaves the kitchen.

Hannah is frowning like she already knows the answer.

"Time for bed," Arthur says, and her bottom lips juts out a little, petulantly. "Come on," he says again, reaching to lift her from the chair.

"But—" she says helplessly. "But Daddy _said_ it was okay!"

"Daddy didn't ask first," Arthur says patiently as he carries her down the hall to her room. Eames follows them, picking up the toys Hannah had left about during the day. "But don't worry. You know what we do to people who don't ask first, right?"

Hannah's eyes light up.

Arthur sets her on the bed and changes her into her pajamas, and then goes to hide behind the door, holding a finger to his lips. Eames comes in a moment or two later, and Arthur shuts the door behind him.

"Darling, what—" Eames begins, but he is cut off by Hannah unsuccessfully trying to tackle him. With Arthur's help, Hannah tugs Eames over to the bed. The point man pushes his husband down, and Hannah climbs on top of him.

"People who don't ask get tickled!" she squeals, and then proceeds to do so.

Eames lets out an unmanly shriek that he swears Arthur into silence about later, and laughs breathlessly as Hannah does her best to poke every inch of his stomach. Arthur is grinning.

Not one to be taken down lightly, Eames lashes out and grabs Arthur's shirtfront, yanking him down onto the bed as well. He then goes on to inflict the same treatment he received onto both his struggling husband and his daughter.

Later, hair messy, shirt wrinkled, and tie badly askew, Arthur tucks the sleeping Hannah under her covers and leans back against his red-faced and breathless husband. He breathes out slowly, and then smiles. It is taking all of his will not to sag bonelessly against the Brit from exhaustion.

The clock reads eight-thirty.

"Bedtime," Eames says softly, and Arthur nods, turning off the light and following him out of the room.

**-oooxooo-**

**O is for Outings**

"Are you excited, darling?" Eames asks, one hand holding Arthur's and the other wrapped around a stick of cotton candy. Arthur rolls his eyes and tightens his grip around the leash of Hannah's kid-harness.

"I don't know why we're here," he confesses honestly. "Really, there aren't many things to do. Everything is dirty and all of the games are rigged by the management to trick and cheat innocent children out of the cheap prizes they think they need." He regards the game stands with the distaste Eames recognizes as the repressed hatred of a once-cheated, innocent baby-Arthur, but wisely doesn't say anything.

"And she's too short to ride most of the rides, even if they _didn't_ look like they're ready to fall apart at the slightest touch," Arthur finishes. He is tense as he surveys the crowd of slightly sketchy-looking people, a group commonly known as clowns.

He doesn't like carnivals.

"Oh, Arthur, if I'd known you were afraid of clowns, I wouldn't have made you come," Eames says, taking another bite of his confectionary and ignoring everything Arthur said. "It's all right. Hannah and I will protect you."

Arthur suddenly hits Eames's elbow and smushes the remainder of the cotton candy into the forger's face.

Eames stands there frozen for a second before letting out a playful roar and chasing Arthur and Hannah over to the pretzel stand Hannah has dragged her father to.

**-ooo-**

"Daddy," Hannah says, later, tugging at Eames's sleeve. He has just managed to get all of the remnants of the pink cotton candy off of his face, but he is sure there is still some in his hair.

"Yes, pet?" he asks.

"Look." She points over to a game stand. "It's Lucy's sister! She's been here all along. Can we take her home?"

The rabbit in question is the prize for a shooting game—_probably rigged_, Eames consents mentally—and Eames grins. "Of course we can, doll. Let's just go get your papa." He and Hannah jog over to the bench where Arthur is sitting, watching the crowd. He is still paranoid, after all these years.

Eames can't blame him.

He looks up as they approach and smiles, but reaches into his breast pocket for his handkerchief to wipe powdered sugar off of Hannah's face instead of standing.

"Are you having fun?" he asks her, and she grins.

"_Oui,_ Papa. Lots of fun! Daddy's going to get me Lucy's sister!" She squirms excitedly and tugs at the leash of her harness. "Can we go now, Daddy?"

"Actually, I'm feeling a bit tired. I think I'll take a rest," Eames says, and falls onto the bench next to Arthur. Hannah pouts.

"But _Daddy!_" she whines, until she is stopped by a warning look from Arthur. And she sighs, remembering how many times she's been given the '_don't whine_' lecture. Instead, she climbs up onto the bench with them.

"Oh, here's an idea," Eames says. "Why don't _you_ go, Arty?" And he's grinning, because this was his plan all along. "You always were a better marksman then I am, anyway. Go work out some of your childhood carnival issues."

Hannah's puppy eyes are irresistible when she turns them on her father, and finally Arthur sighs.

"Come on, then," he says, straightening the collar of his light-blue polo shirt. He takes Hannah's sticky hand and lets her lead him over to the game.

They stand in line and watch many people—kids and parents alike—try and hit the randomly moving red and white target with little black pellets. There are holes in the target to suggest that it has been hit before, but Arthur guesses them to be just for show.

One kid almost clips the edge, but the cardboard circle jerks out of the way just before the pellet impacts.

"Next," the bored college-kid attendant sighs as the kid returns, frustrated, to his father.

"That's us, Papa!" Hannah says excitedly. Arthur allows her to drag him up to the counter and then extricates his hand, laying it on her energetically bouncing head. "You'll get her, right? You can do anything!"

"How many times do I have to hit it for the rabbit?" he asks, and the attendant says four times. Already, the crowd of tried-and-failed players around the game are shaking their heads and muttering that they hope the little girl won't be too disappointed when her 'invincible' father can't get the rabbit.

Arthur hands over the two dollars to buy four pellets.

He loads them all into the gun at once, because the chamber is built to hold eight—that is the maximum number that people can buy at once. He weighs the gun in his hand, approximates the slight recoil he's observed from watching the boy ahead of them, and then nods for the attendant to start the target.

For one of the two minutes the game runs for, Arthur simply studies the movement of the target. It isn't random, he decides, but follows one of four set patterns of movement. It just switches often.

Then, just as Hannah is beginning to squirm with worry, Arthur raises the gun and fires all four of his pellets into the center of the target. He sets the empty gun on the counter.

The time runs out.

**-ooo-**

As the sun sets, the Eames-DeLacey family leaves the carnival. Arthur has the harness in his hand, and Eames has a drowsy Hannah over his shoulder. Eames reaches over and takes Arthur's hand in his free one.

"So, did you have any fun at all?" he asks, giving a gentle squeeze.

And Arthur looks over at their daughter and thinks of the shock on the faces of everyone at the game. He reaches over and tucks Rachel Rabbit more securely under Hannah's arm before giving Eames's hand an answering squeeze.

"You know what? I really did."

**-oooxooo-**

**P is for Pictures**

Arthur thins his mouth and lowers the camera. He's been trying for what seems like hours (but in reality is only twenty minutes) to win a smile—_just one smile_—out of his usually bubbly eighteen-month-old daughter.

He has taken six pictures already of her laying there in her cute pink dress with her bunny stuffed animal, but she isn't smiling in a _single one_.

She's just staring at him.

"Darling? Are you in here?" Eames sticks his head into the room questioningly, and then smiles, coming in. "Good, because I've been meaning to ask you—pet, what's wrong?"

Arthur's eyes have widened, and his hands have gone limp on the camera. He is vaguely glad that he has put the strap around his neck, because otherwise he would have dropped it.

His mouth is slightly and incredulously open.

"Pet? Arthur? Are you all right?" Eames takes a worried step closer and Arthur is glad he doesn't _cringe._

"Hee…hee hee hee," Hannah giggles from behind him, and with reflexes trained from dodging bullets, Arthur spins on his heel and snaps the picture; one tiny hand in her mouth and the other curled around Lucy Lapin, Hannah's eyes are crinkled in laughter, her smile bright.

She continues laughing for another few minutes, and Arthur gets seven more pictures.

"Arthur?" Eames ventures again, and Arthur turns off the camera and turns, before immediately snapping his eyes shut.

"Hannah agrees with me," he says. "And I am _so _glad she does. James, where on _Earth_ did you get that _hideous_ shirt?"

The shirt in question is orange, with darker palm trees on it and green square-ish blobs.

Eames looks down at it.

"Oh come off it, Arthur. This is a perfectly acceptable shirt," he says, trying to look offended, but it is lost on Arthur's still-closed eyes.

"No, James, it's practically fluorescent. From now on, you are only allowed to wear it when I'm trying to make Hannah laugh." Eyes still shut, Arthur easily navigates the room—goes _around_ his husband—to the door.

He pauses there, one hand on the frame, before glancing back over his shoulder. There is a small smile playing around the corners around his mouth, and Eames tries not to forgive him too easily for the slight of his new shirt.

"Thank you, by the way," Arthur says. "Now take it off."

* * *

So there you have it. Please review!


	6. Q, R, S

Hey, everyone! Here's part six! Sorry I didn't post it yesterday. I meant to, but I was really busy and then really tired, so I just kinda went to bed. So, it's up now, instead. :)**

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******

Q is for Quiet

Arthur jerks awake, eyes wide, and for a minute he can't figure out why. His heart is hammering and his adrenaline is through the roof. Next to him, Eames stirs before wrapping an arm around Arthur's bare waist.

"Darling, go back to sleep," he mutters, shifting to bury his face in the space where Arthur's neck _should_ have been and making a discontented noise when he finds out it's not.

"I can't, there's…_something_ wrong." Arthur swings his legs out of bed and reaches for the sweatpants that lie on the floor about a foot away. They are Eames's, but they'll do for now.

"What?" Eames asks, more fully awake now and sitting up. "What is it, darling?"

"It's…it's too _quiet_," Arthur says, finally grasping the cause of his alarm. Panicked, he quickly turns to the baby monitor and gasps when he sees that the crib is empty.

Eames stops him halfway to the door by wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist and laying his head against Arthur's bare shoulder.

"Shh, darling, it's okay. We left her with my mum for the night, remember? She's safe. Everything is fine."

And Arthur relaxes into the embrace, turning his face away to hide his blush.

"Sorry," he says, and Eames chuckles.

"It's no matter. Now come back to bed."

**-oooxooo-**

**R is for Rabbit**

Rabbits are Hannah's favorite animal. It's clear from the start; from the way she latched onto Lucy Lapin at three months to the fact that, at age seven, her room now has over thirty rabbit stuffed animals in it.

"Please, Papa, we can look after her, right?" Hannah blinks up at him hopefully. Her eyes are pleading, but Arthur can't really see them. His own eyes are watering and squinted, and one hand is raised to his nose.

"_Ih-kesrzt!"_ His shoulders tense against the sneeze, and he frowns.

"_Santé!_" Hannah says, setting down the wire cage and digging in her pocket for her handkerchief. "Here, Papa. But, can we keep her? I promised Miss Angelica we would. Just for the holiday."

"I—_heh_—sure. Sure, yeah. Just take your into your room okay? And tell your father."

She nods and picks up the cage again. "Come on, Sally," she says to the brown rabbit inside. "You're going to love my room."

Arthur waits until she is gone to sneeze again. And then again.

"Oh, darling, bless you," Eames says, coming up from behind him and wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist. "Do you want me to pick up some Claratin or something? Otherwise you'll be sneezing all week."

Arthur just nods, body jerking forward again in another fit of sneezes.

Hannah has thirty rabbit stuffed animals. Arthur hopes she'll never get a real one.

**-oooxooo-**

**S is for Spelling**

'_Space is infinet. It encludes many galexies and many, many planits. We live in the Milkyway Galexy, in a solar systim made up of nine planits. Our planit, Earth, is the third from the sun, proseeded by Mercury and Venus. We have not found any inteligent life other than ourselves in our solar systim, but we hope that further out in space we will find more inteligent sp—"_

"Dad?" Hannah calls from the kitchen table where she is doing her homework. "I have another question. How do you spell 'species'?"

"S-p-e-e-s-e-e-s," Eames calls back from the living room, not looking up from his book on semi-automatic rifles.

"Okay, thanks!" Hannah says, beaming, as she copies it onto her paper.

Arthur groans quietly from where he sits doing the crossword puzzle and vows never to let Eames study with Hannah for her spelling tests.

* * *

Arthur really should stop Eames now. XD What'd you think? Short, I know, but good, right? Please review!


	7. T, U, V

Yeah, I know: Early post is early (by a few hours, actually). But hey, you all going to complain? :) Anyway, This one has my fovorite one in it: T. I loved writing that one so much. :) Hope you all enjoy reading it!**

* * *

******

T is for Tea Parties

"Daddy!" Hannah cries, running into the room with tears streaming down her face.

Eames immediately sets aside his newspaper to scoop her up. Cobb looks up from the sports section with worried eyes. They had spent the night at the Cobb residence for a 'family reunion', at Dom's insistence. Arthur, as far as Eames knew, is still asleep even though it is nearing noon.

"Oh, pet, what's wrong? What's the matter?"

"James and Phillipa won't _play_ with me!" she wails. At six years old, all Hannah wants to do is play with her cousins. James is ten and too old for dolls and 'little girls'. Phillipa is thirteen and is too busy texting her friends.

Cobb sets his mouth into a thin line. This isn't the first time this has happened.

He rises, intent to go talk to his children about maybe _being a little nicer_, but Eames shakes his head when Hannah isn't looking.

"Well, _I'll_ play with you," Eames says with a smile. "And I'm sure your Papa will, too, when he wakes up."

Hannah smiles and wipes at her eyes, scrunching up her nose. "Papa's not up yet? _Il est parasseux_! He's _lazy!_" She is done crying, and instead looks up at Eames seriously. "Let's have a tea party, Daddy." She glances over at Cobb. "You're invited, too, Uncle Dominic."

"Thanks," Cobb says with a smile.

**-ooo-**

Arthur comes downstairs at one thirty, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and wondering why Eames let him sleep in that late. Arthur is _not_ a morning person, but his husband usually wakes him up at noon when he sleeps in.

The hallway is quiet, and he blinks.

'_Where is everyone?'_ he thinks blearily, and heads to the kitchen, hoping to find a note. It isn't unlikely that Cobb, Eames, and the kids went out to the park or some other such place. That would probably also explain why he was allowed to sleep his desired amount.

What he finds instead shocks him.

His husband is lounging in a chair at the breakfast table with a pink cowgirl hat on and an orange feather boa around his neck, eating a handful of Cheerios from a bowl on the table. …The ensemble actually complements his shirt. Across from him, Cobb sips his tea in a white beret, wearing six rainbow plastic bead necklaces and blue clip-on earrings.

James is sitting next to his father in a tutu and a pirate hat, fingers curled around the handle of a plastic teacup. His other hand is reaching for the bowl of popcorn in the center of the table. Phillipa is wearing a neon green knit cap that matches the feather boa around her neck and pink, star-shaped sunglasses.

At the head of the table sits Hannah. She is wearing a baseball cap that looks like a duck, a swimming mask, complete with snorkel, one of Phillipa's too-long dresses, and bright orange flippers.

When Eames catches sigh of him, his eyes light up and he raises a straw hat decorated with fluorescent scarves into the air and makes 'come hither' motions with his other hand. Arthur just blinks, and then walks over to the table.

He puts the hat on over his sleep-mussed hair and brushes the scarves out of his face, leaning forward to snatch a handful of popcorn out of the bowl. Eames gets up and comes back with a tiny plastic teacup filled with coffee and sets it before his husband.

"Good morning, darling," he grins. Arthur mutters something incredulous in response to that and drinks his coffee, watching Hannah and Phillipa try to explain to James proper tea party etiquette.

No matter how many times Eames tells him this is reality, this no doubt the _strangest_ dream Arthur's ever had.

**-oooxooo-**

**U is for Uncovered**

"I used to think you were spies, when I was younger," she says, shifting a little uncomfortably in her chair. "But you're not. You're _extractors_, aren't you?"

She watches them as they talk to each other, not with words, but with their eyes. She wonders if one day _she_ will be so in-tune with someone that she can communicate only with a look or a small shift of the shoulders.

"Hannah," Arthur finally says after an eternity of silence, "how did you learn about extraction?" There is neither a confirmation in his voice, nor a denial. It is simply a question.

"Well, we're learning about the PASIV in my science-engineering class in school," she says, nervously fidgeting under her father's even gaze. She is nearly twenty-two, but she still responds to that look, like a child who knows she's done something wrong. "And my psychology class is studying shared dreaming. The topic of mind-crime just kind of…_came up._"

"I see," he says, and leans back to meet Eames's eyes again. This time, Hannah catches a bit of the conversation, if only because they've shared looks like this before.

_What should we tell her?_ Eames asks, a slight inclination of his head and a barely perceptible shift of his eyes that she'd seen often when she started asking about things like _sex_.

_I don't know,_ Arthur says with a small tilt of his shoulder and a twitch of the fingers on his right hand.

_We have to tell her _something, Eames's short, quiet sigh pushes.

_I suppose_, Arthur's frown concedes. He turns back to Hannah and opens his mouth to speak.

But instead of answering any of her questions, Arthur gives her a new one. "How much do you know?"

She hesitates for a moment, but takes a deep breath.

"Dad, you're _un_ _faussaire_, a forger," she says. "And you're _un orginasateur_, a point man, Papa. You break into people's dreams and steal their secrets to sell them to the highest bidder. Dad, you can change your appearance into anything in the dream. Papa, you organize the whole thing. Is that…is that right?"

"How did you learn the terms for it?" Eames asks. "It's not exactly common knowledge, extraction. And it's not something that just _any_ psychology professor would know. Darling?" he asks, catching the slight narrowing of Arthur's eyes.

"Rick Samuel from Wisconsin," is all he says, and Eames nods.

"Ah," the forger breathes, "I see."

"I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to say anything about it, though," Arthur sighs.

"You guys knew him?" Hannah asks, confused. "Well, I guess that would be why he kept me after class and told me to say hi to you for him. So…did you like, work together or something?"

"Samuel was my chemist on the first job your father and I worked together," Arthur says. "He was good enough at his job, but he always did want to be a teacher. I was glad when I found out he had gotten himself a position teaching psychology."

"Really?" Hannah asks, interested. "Wow. Extractors are everywhere."

"All right, pet," Eames says. "The one thing you simply must know is that while your father and I are _technically_ extractors, we are not extractors. We didn't do the actual _stealing_ of secrets, really."

And Arthur shoots him a slight raise of the eyebrows and Eames relents, "Okay, well, we _did_, but not usually. Normally you get a team together, and one of them is the designated extractor. But on small jobs, people can double up."

"Cool," Hannah says, her eyes wide, and Arthur wonders if he should be a little more worried that she isn't taking it badly. "So, how long did you two work together?"

"I worked with Eames for fifteen years, on and off. From my first job at sixteen to my…_our_ last job at thirty-one," Arthur answers. He can feel some of the tension lifting, and it vanishes completely when Eames grins and says, "So you thought we were _spies?"_

"Well! People kept calling here looking for 'Mr. Morsten.' I kept having to tell them that nobody named that lived here. Was that one of your code names?"

"Yes, I was Richard Morsten for a while," Eames confesses. "Way back, in India, I think."

Arthur nods.

"So, do you have your own PASIV?" Hannah asks, and Arthur can tell it's a loaded question. He glances up at Eames just as his husband glances down at him, and then they nod.

"Hannah, how would you like to build a world of paradoxes?" Arthur asks, and she grins.

"I love my dads."

**-oooxooo-**

**V is for Valentines**

"Can I get ones with _Stitch_ on them?" Hannah asks excitedly, tugging Eames into the paper aisle. "I really want ones with _Lilo & Stitch._ Please, Daddy?"

"I don't see why not," he says when Arthur shrugs from where he stands with the cart. "Let's go see if they have them."

"Yay!" Hannah exclaims, and skips down the aisle, dragging her father behind her. Arthur smiles and follows them.

"So, how many do you need?" Eames asks, examining the selection of boxes. "They have eighteen, twenty-four, and thirty."

"Get…uh…thirty," says Hannah. "I want to give the extras to Jared."

Arthur has no choice but to laugh at the murderous expression on his husband's face. "Oh for God's _sake,_ James. She's only _eight_. I don't think it's serious."

"Well, he'd better watch himself," is all Eames has to say. He drops the cardboard valentines into the cart.

* * *

Hope you liked them all! Two more updates to go!

Thank you to all those who reviewed, and please do it again!


	8. W, X

Part eight! Hope everyone enjoys!**

* * *

**

**W is for Wedding**

She looks beautiful.

Her hair is pinned up in delicate spirals with small, loose curls framing her face. Her strapless dress flatters her figure in every way, small sparkles glittering in the light of the bride room. Her eye shadow has softly darkened her eyelids, and the lipstick had stained her smile red.

Arthur finishes tucking the light blue flowers into her hair and drops one hand to her cheek.

"You look amazing, _ma chèrie_."

She blushes prettily.

"You think so, Papa?" she asks, glancing into the mirror again.

"_You think so, Papa?" she asks, glancing into the mirror again to survey the make-up on her face. There is lipstick a little too high on the top lip, perhaps, and she's a little heavy on the eye shadow, but it's not so bad for a six-year-old girl with Auntie Ariadne's stolen kit._

He nods.

Then she lifts her eyes to her dad's in the mirror. Eames stands by the door, pleats crisp and buttons done all the way up. He smiles at her, and she smiles back.

"What do you think, Daddy?" she asks, and turns a slow circle.

"_What do you think, Daddy?" Hannah asks, and turns a slow circle in her pink party dress. "I'm turning eight. I'm not too old to be your princess, am I?"_

"You look like a princess," he answers, leaving the doorframe to come into the room. He pulls her close and cries, but only a little.

Arthur doesn't cry. He has promised himself that he won't.

When it is time, they each take an arm; Arthur on the left and Eames on the right. The music begins, and they walk her down the aisle.

"Papa, _je t'aime_," Hannah says when they reach the end. She leans in and kisses his cheek, and then rubs his nose with hers.

"_Papa, _je t'aime_," she says, arms tight around his neck as he carries her to bed. He rubs her nose with his until she giggles._

"Daddy, I love you," she says, and kisses his cheek, too, and then lays her cheek against his gently.

"_Daddy, I love you," Hannah says, holding his hand while she climbs up onto his lap. She leans her cheek against his lightly and laughs at the prickle of stubble against her smooth skin._

When he lets her go, she smiles at both of them, and then turns to take the final steps up to the altar where Jared is waiting to take her hand.

Eames gently grasps Arthur's hand in his, and they give her away.

**-oooxooo-**

**X is for Xenophile**

"Where is this one from?"

Eames grins in fond nostalgia as he takes the proffered postcard. It's a picture of night in the jungle, with the eyes of the animals glowing. "It's from Brazil," he says.

"How about this one?"

"That one's from Mombassa. It's from the first time I met your Uncle Yusuf."

"This one?"

"Paris. The building on it was actually designed by Auntie Ariadne."

"Cool! How about this one?"

Eames catches Arthur's eye from where his husband stands in the kitchen, and he smiles again, softly. "That one, Hannah, is from Germany. It's from the day your father and I first met."

"Wow," the twelve-year-old breathes, looking over the collection. There are still hundreds of postcards she hasn't seen tucked away in her fathers' room, hundreds of stories she hasn't heard yet.

"Which one do you want to know about next?" Eames asks her, and she picks up a postcard from Laos. Eames grins. "Your Papa might be able to explain that one better than I can. I was mostly unconscious for that trip."

When Hannah looks alarmed, Arthur tells her that it was food poisoning.

And she smiles and listens as her fathers outline adventure after adventure of sightseeing in countries all around the world and dreams of the days she will make such trips of her own.

* * *

Yeah, I know it was short, but it's almost the end. :) Also, I was thinking about maybe writing a full-length fic about Hannah, her fathers, and dream sharing after I finish the one I'm working on now. Would anyone be interested in reading something like that?

Thanks!

P.S. 'Xenophile' means 'a person who loves foreign cultures'.


	9. Y, Z

The end of the line is here. I hope you all enjoyed!**

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******

Y is for Years

The album is dark leather and warms easily in his hands when he lifts it off the shelf.

Fifty-five years old, Arthur sits down on the couch and opens the book. In the glossy pictures, Hannah smiles back at him, her baby-round cheeks dimpled with joy. Even after all these years, he still remembers what she was looking at.

An arm wraps around his shoulders as a familiar weight settles onto the couch next to him.

"Oh, bloody Nora, look at her. She's so cute," Eames whispers, leaning his head against his husband's. "There we are at the park. Aw, pumpkin carving. Your suit got _so_ ruined."

"I didn't expect her to throw the guts at me," Arthur says. "If she'd given me a minute, I would have changed into my sweatpants."

"I know," Eames says with a smile. "Oh look, darling, there she is graduating from middle school. And there's her first high school awards ceremony."

"This is her first drama production," Arthur adds with a small smile. "Look at her. So serious."

"And here's her college graduation. You cried so much, then, darling." Eames pulls Arthur close and kisses his temple.

"Not as much as _you_," Arthur teases back. "God, she's twenty-five. Where has the time gone?"

"Forward, just like she has."

**-oooxooo-**

**Z is for Zeke**

The blue bundle is so small in his arms that he's afraid that he'll break the tiny boy inside. He is careful, sitting very still with the baby's head pillowed against the crook of his elbow.

His daughter's eyes are smiling at him, and his husband hasn't stopped watching them; him and their new grandson. By the bed, Jared's face glows with all the love a new father has to offer.

After an eternity, he lifts a hand to gently stroke the baby's cheek. "What's his name?" he asks softly, still enraptured with the infant in his arms.

"Zeke," Hannah says, eyes shining with joy. "Ezekiel William Belmont."

"Zeke," he repeats in wonder. "Hello, Zeke."

When he finally gives the baby back to Jared, his husband hugs him close, and he can feel the soft breaths of laughter against his neck, the pride and happiness radiating off of the man behind him.

"It's all right, Arty. You can breathe now," his husband says. "You always were so careful."

And Arthur and Eames think back, back to when they held a small pink bundle so gently, afraid that they would break the tiny baby girl inside, and know that there is nothing in the world better than this.

* * *

The end! But now we must get into business:

1. I **WILL** be writing a full-length Hannah fic.  
2. I will write it when I'm done with my current project, which may take me a while, so be patient.  
3. When it is finished, how would you like me to post it? On the end of here, or as it's own separate story? You caould just put me on author alert, if you want it as a separate enitity.

**Please review and tell me how you would like to see the fic posted. Right now I'm leaning toward as a separate fic, but I'd like your opinons. :) Thanks!**


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